They could eat, then, without drawing from the Green Prairie food stocks.
She went up with the water, unfolded the little stove, lit the solidified alcohol and put on the water. Someone knocked at the front door, frightening her. She ran to it.
“Hi, Mrs. Conner! Henry home yet?” It was Jed Emmings, from Spruce Street.
“Not yet”
“You all right?”
“Yes, thanks. Are you?”
“You bet—and thank God. So are my folks. I just came by, to let you know your Ted’s okay, too.”
“Ted?” She stared at him perplexedly. He was filthy dirty, like almost everybody. “I didn’t know,” she said finally, “Ted was hurt.”
“Hurt bad, Mrs. Conner. But he’s over in the Green Prairie Country Club, getting real good care. I was on duty there. I talked to him.”
“What happened?”